A Thousand Summers
by Momotastic
Summary: Sherlock is a vampire whose true age is unknown. John is a young soldier during the Hundred Years' War. They meet and then they meet again and again and again.


The first time Sherlock met John was in 1345. John was a soldier fighting in the Hundred Years' War and Sherlock was a strategist in the French army, a position his brother forced him to occupy. He found it terribly boring.

The French army frequently captured English soldiers and Sherlock just as frequently had them brought to his tent. One night there was John. Sherlock didn't think much of him but had him washed and put into clean clothes anyway. After all, nobody wanted to eat dirty food, did they?

John never lost his look of defiance. Even when others would've begged for their life or cowered in fear at the sight of Sherlock's teeth, he just stared ahead unblinkingly.

Sherlock was fascinated and decided to spare his life. He kept him nearby wherever he went.

However, he made the mistake of taking John to London a few years later. He'd forgotten that even though _he_ was invulnerable towards disease and injury, John was not. He died of the plague in 1348.

After John's death Sherlock felt the loss for a short time but soon overcame it while travelling back to France.

The second meeting was completely by chance.

Sherlock had once again returned to England in the middle of the fifteenth century and decided to stay for a while. He took up residence in London and witnessed the Civil War under Henry III. A young man, boy more like it, managed to break into his rooms and attempted to steal some of his possessions. When Sherlock caught him and threatened to kill him the boy just looked at him with anger and hate in his eyes. Sherlock let go of him abruptly only to ask the boy his name.

At first the boy wouldn't tell him but Sherlock didn't need to be told.

"John," he said and the boy's eyes widened in shock moments before he turned around and ran away. It took Sherlock three weeks to find him again. He offered his parents to take John in and raise him, educate him. Since they could barely afford to put enough food on the table for the three of them they readily agreed to have John looked after by a wealthy aristocrat. An hour later he moved into Sherlock's residence.

It took another year before John recognised him.

Their time was prematurely cut short when John, forgetting that Sherlock wasn't susceptible to injuries, threw himself between him and an assassin. The dagger meant for Sherlock's chest caught him instead and he bled out within moments.

This time Sherlock felt the loss more acutely than last time.

The third time they met was in 1573. Queen Elizabeth I was on the throne and supporters of all denominations were fighting over which church was the right one. Sherlock had been bored out of his mind and taken to watch men get drunk or play cards. He'd always had a talent for observation and what he read about the lives of these men was neither interesting nor new but it kept him occupied and distracted between meals.

One day a new face appeared and Sherlock's indifference vanished immediately. A man, almost thirty years old, entered the place. He was limping and missing an arm but was miraculously still alive.

It only took moments before Sherlock recognised the look in the man's eyes.

He introduced himself later that night and told John everything there was to know about his injuries. John laughed and nodded, offering him his friendship.

Eight months passed before he remembered Sherlock.

Sherlock convinced him to move into his house that was far away from most diseases and the bloody fights between Catholics and Protestants. John lived to a respectable age of forty-eight. The night he died he begged Sherlock to turn him, to not let him go but Sherlock thought that he deserved a human death.

After John's death Sherlock was lost for the longest time. He travelled around Europe for a while, looking for a new companion to pass the time until he would be able to start looking for John again. He remembered every one of their meetings and had a good idea about when he might find him.

It was 1677 when Sherlock encountered him once more. He was even older than last time but the look in his eyes was still the same. He had lost a wife and two children to a fire that burnt his left arm.

Almost half a year of regular visits were needed before John recognised Sherlock and greeted him like an old friend.

He began asking him years before he died. Sherlock always refused him, claiming that John wouldn't like being eternal.

John usually dropped the subject for a few months before bringing it up again. In the meantime he accompanied Sherlock when he went out during the night, watched him while he drank, and called him beautiful.

Ironically enough, John died of blood poisoning only seven years later.

Sherlock went looking for him right away. Maybe he had already missed various reincarnations of him because he only opened his eyes a few decades after John's death.

However, it took almost another century before he spotted John. He was younger than the last time. Sherlock estimated him at barely twenty years, if not younger. (He later learned that John had only just turned nineteen.)

He had come to London to find work and it took him all of three meetings to finally recognise Sherlock. At first he was ashamed of being so young but Sherlock was delighted, fascinated even. During John's first two lives Sherlock hadn't known the real value of his presence and he let the chance to know him like this slip away. He wanted to make sure that this time he got to learn John's body without any scars. He had also hoped that now that he has learned from past mistakes and because John was so young they would have many years together.

John still insisted on finding work to support his family even though Sherlock took good care of him. He let him do as he pleased as long as he was still free to come with Sherlock when he went out to drink. John had moved in with him and soon enough he spent every night in Sherlock's bed. It was a good thing Sherlock never had the patience for servants. He might not have had to fear anything if they had been discovered but he didn't want John to be hanged.

John started asking him to turn him months after they moved in together. Sherlock always refused, claiming that John was still young and should let his body experience life for as long as possible.

When he died at the age of thirty-seven he smiled sadly at Sherlock and told him that he'd rather not have experienced this particular part of life yet again.

When they met again in 1881 Sherlock had made sure that they had a few rooms to themselves with a landlady who not only knew about Sherlock and his preferences but who was also discreet. She welcomed John as if he were family and John, who had yet to recognise Sherlock, was surprised and confused by her friendliness. Surely Londoner ladies weren't usually this forward?

It took him all of two hours upon moving in with Sherlock before he knew whom he was talking to. Sherlock could see the exact moment when it happened. He only smiled and opened his arms for John to step into.

That night they reacquainted themselves with one another. John was almost thirty, and Sherlock made it a point to tell him about all the differences between this body and the previous ones. John had another injury to the left arm and right leg but not as bad as before - medicine had improved after all. The moustache was different to the lack of facial hair or full grown beards he had worn before. His hair was shorter too.

The next day he told John about his work as a consultant with the New Scotland Yard and John praised him for finally doing something useful with his talent for observation, besides plotting wars.

This life was possibly the best one they had together yet and when Sherlock disappeared for three years, for the first time John was glad that Sherlock had always refused to turn him. He had married and was absurdly grateful for his wife's death when Sherlock eventually returned.

He didn't ask him again in this life but it was there in his eyes when he died of old age in their cottage in Sussex.

John's next reincarnation eventually led him to a lab at St. Bartholomew's Hospital where he immediately recognised the tall, pale man bent over an experiment.

"You have to do it this time."

"Why should I?"

"Because this is my last life."

"How do you know?"

"I just do."

"But how?"

"I don't know how I know. It's my seventh life though. Isn't that sort of a magical number?"

"Don't be superstitious, John."

"Said the immortal to the man who keeps on being reborn," John says with a grin.

Sherlock just glares.

"I'm not saying that you should do it right now or tomorrow. I just want you to really think about it. This time, when I die, I'm gone. I won't come back again."

Sherlock doesn't say anything.

"Please, Sherlock. Every time I died it broke my heart to know that I would be leaving you alone."

"I find that hard to believe. The first two times we barely knew each other."

"Maybe. That didn't stop me from falling in love with you at first sight though."

Sherlock's head snaps up to look at John. "You're lying."

"Why would I lie? This is important Sherlock. Do you think I'd ask you to make me like you so we can spend eternity together if I didn't care about you?"

"You won't like it. You would have to harm humans."

"No, I wouldn't. You're fine with the supplies from the blood bank and so will I."

"You'll grow tired of my character."

"I've stuck with you through seven lives – even though you unthinkingly brought me into a plague-ridden city the first time around and left me for three years last time." He cringes when he sees the guilty look on Sherlock's face. He probably would never forgive himself for those things.

"I don't like leaving you alone," John continues, "and from what Mycroft tells me you've been horrible in the years that I wasn't there. You need me. And I need you. Why can't you just get over your fascination of me breathing, flushing and being able to digest food that you wouldn't want to eat anyway, and just turn me already?"

Sherlock doesn't reply again.

"You're worried you won't want me once I'm like you," John says finally. It's the one thing he fears more than dying.

"Don't be ridiculous John. Your living body is surely an added bonus but hardly what makes you interesting."

"Then what?"

He can see the exact moment when Sherlock finally gives in.

"Fine. I'll consider it."

John smiles. "Thank you. That's all I'm asking. For now."

The Rich Brook incident happens and Sherlock disappears for a few months. John remembers with startling clarity the last time this happened and he worries.

They hadn't expected Moriarty to force Sherlock into vanishing again and even though John knows that Sherlock will come back he has moments when he thinks that this time he won't.

Half a year later Sherlock is sitting in his chair in Baker Street when John comes home from work. His first instinct is to punch him but it won't do them any good. Sherlock doesn't feel pain like humans do and John would probably break his hand on Sherlock's jaw.

Instead he goes directly into the kitchen and puts the kettle on.

"So, you're back," he says just as the water boils.

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"As long as you'll let me stay with you."

"Or until I die of a stray bullet or cardiac arrest or old age."

"Don't be so morbid, John."

"Why shouldn't I be? Two years ago you said that you would consider turning me and I'm still waiting for an answer."

"You're right."

"Damn right I'm right." There's obvious anger in John's voice. He doesn't want to mask it. Let Sherlock know how disappointed he is.

"I didn't want to do it as long as Moriarty was still out there."

"You knew he'd try something like this again?"

"I knew he would try to separate us, yes."

"Shouldn't that have been even more of a reason to turn me?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because if he had succeeded in his plans I would be dead by now and you would have to go on without me."

John has no answer to that.

"It's irrelevant now. Moriarty has been dealt with and won't be a problem anymore."

"He's gone?"

"Yes."

"For good?"

"Yes."

John takes a moment to digest that. He asks eventually, "What happens next?"

"I believe you asked me to make you like me."

"And you're finally agreeing?"

"I am."

He beams at Sherlock. "Fantastic. When?"

"As soon as you want."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Okay, good. That's good."

Now that he's finally getting what he wants John realises that Sherlock has never mentioned anything about how to become a vampire.

"So, uhm, how does this work?"

Sherlock smiles. "I will have to bite you and drink your blood until you're close to dying." He looks at John to gauge his reaction.

"Alright, I trust you to stop in time. What next?"

"You will drink some of my blood."

"And that will turn me?"

"Yes."

"Will it hurt?"

"Yes, very. Your mortal body will die and that is going to cause a lot of pain."

John nods. "How long will it take?"

"A few hours until the process is completed."

"I should probably call in sick at work then," he muses.

"I believe that would be wise, yes."

"Is there anything else I need to prepare for?"

"No. You will resume your life as it was. You already know that the lore about sunlight, crosses, stakes and holy water is rubbish. So is the aversion to moving water, silver or garlic. You will be thirsty after waking up so we should make sure that we have enough blood at hand for that."

"Yeah, sounds sensible."

"However," Sherlock continues hesitantly, "the blood from the bank won't quench your first thirst completely. You will have to drink fresh soon after turning."

"Oh." John looks at his feet. "You never mentioned that."

"It never came up."

John fiddles with his mug, still not raising his eyes.

"I will stop you from hurting them permanently," Sherlock says quietly.

"Uh, yeah, good. Thank you." John falls silent again.

"You've changed your mind," Sherlock states.

John looks up at Sherlock abruptly, confusion clear on his face. "What? No. No, I haven't. It's just ... I don't know. I've seen you bite people many times and I know you never killed them. I just never considered that I would do it myself."

Sherlock nods. "After your transformation you can wait a while before you drink fresh blood but resisting will become more difficult the longer you wait and eventually you will lose control over yourself and feed on the nearest human you can find. It's possible that you won't be able to stop or be stopped."

"Yeah, no, we should get that out of the way as soon as possible," John agrees, nodding vehemently.

Sherlock only inclines his head.

"So, we have to prepare, right?" John asks a moment later. "Call my work, make sure we're undisturbed for a few hours and get more blood."

"Yes."

"Let's get started."

"You should lie down. You will become dizzy and it'll be easier to stay in control over what I'm doing if I don't have to worry about further injuring you."

John nods and sits on the bed to take off his shoes. A moment later he strips off his jumper and shirt as well before lying down on his left side.

Sherlock shrugs off his dressing gown. He didn't get dressed properly this morning and is now left wearing only his pyjama pants.

He lies down behind John and slings an arm around his waist, tilting his head to the side with the other.

"Are you sure?" he murmurs into John's ear.

"Yes, of course."

"Are you ready?"

"Yes and I have been for a long time. Now get on with it," John says, sounding not nearly as impatient as he wants to.

Sherlock smiles. "As you wish."

He kisses John's neck and flicks his tongue out to lick the skin. "This is going to hurt for a moment," he warns and then sinks his teeth into John's flesh.

John cries out and grapples at Sherlock's arms. His instincts take over and he's trying to fight Sherlock off but Sherlock has an iron grip around his waist and on his head, keeping him in place as he begins to drink from him.

After a few moments the pain gives way to a feeling of euphoria and desire. In the back of his head he notes that the blood loss is making him hazy but it's more of an afterthought than anything else.

"Sherlock," he mumbles and Sherlock growls in response.

"Sherlock, stop," John says. His vision is starting to swim and he feels light-headed. He's close to passing out and it makes him panic.

"Sh'lock," he gasps and just when he's about to lose consciousness Sherlock pulls off and rolls him onto his back.

"Shh, it's alright," Sherlock says in a low voice. His lips are red and his eyes dilated and John thinks, not for the first time, that Sherlock's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Sherlock bites his own wrist and holds it up to John's mouth. "Drink. It will help."

John opens his mouth and tentatively licks at the cut. The sharp tang of iron with an underlying sweetness tastes heavenly and John starts sucking greedily.

He pulls off a few seconds later when sharp pain shoots up his spine and a slow burning spreads over his skin.

He grits his teeth and his entire body tenses.

Then the pain gets even worse and he arches off the bed. When he finally manages to unlock his jaw it's only so he can scream. Sherlock's hand is on his mouth in an instant, sufficiently silencing him. Mrs Hudson might be out for the night but they still have neighbours.

Sherlock avoids more body contact except for where his hand is on John's mouth. He doesn't remember much from his own transformation but he's certain that he didn't want anything touching him if it could be avoided.

He settles down next to John and prepares for a long night.

In the end it takes seven hours and twenty-three minutes for the process to be completed. John finally relaxes and Sherlock takes his hand away.

He opens his eyes and the first things he notices are his improved hearing and eyesight. However, most of all he feels hungry.

"Sherlock," he rasps as Sherlock turns to face him. And yeah, okay, maybe seeing everything more sharply is going to be the death of him because fuck, Sherlock is beautiful.

"It's alright, John, we'll get you something to drink in a moment," Sherlock replies with a smile and then slides off the bed to get the blood they've stored in the fridge.

He comes back with a mug and John snatches it out of his hands immediately, downing it as fast as possible.

"Slow down, savour the taste," Sherlock advises but John can't stop. He's never been this hungry before or has tasted anything as good as this.

When he's successfully emptied three bags he feels a little better.

"You said I need to feed fresh soon."

"Yes. This was just to settle your thirst for now. If you're ready we can get dressed and go out."

John nods and pulls clothes out of the wardrobe.

Minutes later they're out on the street and Sherlock directs them towards Regents Park.

He stays one step behind John at all times, looking around for a suitable target. It doesn't take long until they've found a young jogger. Sherlock snatches him off the path and closes a hand over his mouth.

"Come here," he says and John steps closer. The man is smelling of sweat and adrenaline as well as fear. But most of all he smells delicious.

John inhales deeply at the man's neck and licks at his skin. He's pressed to the man's front while Sherlock's holding him from behind, tilting the man's head to the side so John has free range.

"You'll stop me, right?" he manages to ask and as soon as Sherlock nods in affirmation he plunges his teeth into the man's neck.

Warm blood wells up and John moans at how good it tastes. Why would anyone ever give this up for banked blood? He doesn't realise how much time passes until he feels strong arms around his torso, pulling him away from the body in front of him.

He turns around, pushing Sherlock off him and growling dangerously, baring his teeth and ready to pounce.

Sherlock makes himself look as unthreatening as he can, carefully inching closer again. "It's alright, John. You're feeling defensive because you think I want to steal your prey."

He keeps talking and slowly the haze abates and John can see clearly again.

He turns to look at the young man who's fallen to the ground and whose neck is still bleeding.

"Is he," John begins but Sherlock stops him before he can finish his question.

"He's lost a lot of blood of course but he'll live. Pick him up and lick at the puncture wounds," Sherlock instructs.

John does as he's been told and watches in amazement as the wounds stop bleeding and close up, leaving nothing but two tiny, faint marks.

"What now?" he asks.

Sherlock smiles and fishes his phone out of his pocket. "Now we call an ambulance."

They watch from afar as the jogger is strapped to a gurney and carried off to the nearest hospital.

"Thank you for stopping me," John says on their way back home.

"You're welcome."

Back in their living room John still feels high from the blood he drank not twenty minutes ago and he's buzzing with energy. He crowds Sherlock against the nearest wall and attacks his mouth, accidentally biting too hard and drawing blood.

"Careful," Sherlock huffs out but he's grinning against John's lips.

John presses closes, moving his mouth to Sherlock's neck, licking the skin and carefully grazing it with his teeth.

"What happens if I drink from you now?"

"According to lore we'll bond. As your maker we're already attuned to one another but if we wish to further deepen that connection we should drink each other's blood regularly."

"So, it would be a good thing for me to bite you now?" John murmurs against Sherlock's skin.

"Yes," Sherlock whispers.

"Good."

And with that John bites Sherlock hard enough to break skin. At the same time he lifts his wrist to Sherlock's mouth invitingly. He doesn't have to wait long until he can feel Sherlock's mouth on his skin and then they're lapping up each other's blood.

They break apart with simultaneous moans a moment later.

"Fuck, this feels amazing," John gasps.

He moves closer and then both of them groan as their erections come in contact through layers of clothes.

"Is it always like that?" he asks.

"I don't know. I've never created another vampire. Or bonded with one," Sherlock replies breathlessly and John feels a surge of pride and possessiveness. He's the only one Sherlock has let come this close.

He grabs Sherlock's arse and grinds their hips together, his cock rubbing against Sherlock's thigh while Sherlock's erection is hard against John's lower abdomen.

"Bed?" he asks but Sherlock shakes his head. "Too far."

John growls his approval as he tugs at the buttons and zippers of their clothes. He plunges his hand inside Sherlock's pants and wraps it around his cock, setting up a fast rhythm immediately.

Sherlock moans deep in his throat and moves his hips to meet John's movement. "Yes, more," he pants and John is quick to oblige. He adds a little twist on the upstroke and tries to sweep his thumb over the head as often as possible. It's not enough though and John uses his free hand to open the top buttons on Sherlock's shirt. He mouths the skin on Sherlock's chest, flicking his tongue out and spreading open mouthed kisses on every available bit of skin he can find.

When he bites hard enough to draw blood again, Sherlock growls and comes hard all over John's fist.

He rests his head on John's shoulder, nosing at the spot behind John's ear, memorising his new scent.

John pulls out his own cock and starts wanking himself, hand still slick from Sherlock's cooling semen.

"Oh fuck, Sherlock," he moans and that seems to bring Sherlock back to the here and now. He slaps John's hand away.

"Look at me," he commands and John's head snaps up, eyes wide open and fixed on Sherlock's.

Sherlock's hand feels incredibly on his cock, better than it ever has before and it doesn't take long until John comes. His knees almost give out under him and for a second he thinks how unfair it is that even as an immortal being he's still prone to muscle weaknesses right after orgasm.

In the end he just grins happily up at Sherlock and leans up to capture his mouth again.

"Thank you," Sherlock says.

John frowns. "For what?"

"Every life you've given."

John smiles. It's probably the only time Sherlock will ever allow himself to let his sentimentality show this openly. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Sherlock smirks and kisses him again.

John thinks that even forever won't be long enough to get used to Sherlock kissing him.


End file.
